


As the Latch Closes & the Thunder Booms the Soul Screams Its Pain

by Katlover98



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Bang, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam Winchester, Mentions of Rape, Original Character(s), PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, SWBB, Seizures, Worried Dean Winchester, do not copy to another site, flash backs, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22645762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katlover98/pseuds/Katlover98
Summary: Sam is back from the Cage, but instead of telling Dean or going to Bobby, he decides to go on a self-imposed exile. Dean eventually finds out and goes looking for his wayward brother. The more Dean uncovers, the more worried he gets. Sam is suffering, and Dean is going to find him and bring him home.Part of Sam Winchester Big BangArt is made by the talented winchesterchola. Link to her artwork can be found here:https://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/tagged/as-the-latch-closes
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104





	As the Latch Closes & the Thunder Booms the Soul Screams Its Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank Winchestercola for drawing the beautiful fan art compliment my fic. I'm sorry for being so slow. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Prologue**

**_Eleven Months Since Swan Song_ **

Sam stared into the window.

It was a perfect family dinner scene. He didn't want to disturb it. The streetlight he was standing under flickered until it went out, leaving Sam in the shadows.

Sam watched as Lisa said something to Ben, and both the boy and Dean laughed. Sam gave a sad smile. He didn’t belong there. After nine months of being stuck in the Cage with both Michael and Lucifer, he knew he wasn’t all there anymore.

It had taken him two months to find Dean after leaving Hell. Not because it was hard, no, in the end, it had taken Sam two days to find out where his brother had moved to.

It was because after Sam had been mysteriously brought back from the dead, he hadn’t been in his right mind.

He vaguely remembered waking up in Stull Cemetery, confused. The tortures of the Cage still on the heels of his memory. He could feel Lucifer's icy fingers abusing and defiling him. He could feel Michael's anger still burning his being. He could hear Adam's screams, and his accusations hurled toward Sam's.

_It's your fault we're here, Sam. I don't belong here!_

Sam shook his head. He felt his body shake as the echoes of his younger brother's words bounced around his head. 

Sam closed his eyes and shied away from the thoughts of Adam. He looked back up, looking at his brother and his little family as they enjoyed their evening. His thoughts went back to the first moments after he had been yanked out of Hell.

Sam didn't know how long he had laid on the cemetery floor that had been his final resting ground, but the thunder and rain hadn't helped him come back to reality. The loud roars and flashes coming from the sky had been eerily similar to the sounds from the Cage.

He shook his head; he didn't want to remember.

It was unfortunate that his mind had a perverse habit of bringing back unwanted memories.

Sam took one last good look at Dean. He wanted to memorize the scene before him. This was the last time he was going to see his brother. Sam had just wanted to make sure that Dean was alright before going on his self-imposed exile. Watching Dean throw his head back in laughter, Sam knew he would be.

Dean had moved on, just like Sam had wanted him to. He wasn't going to be selfish enough to destroy the peace Dean had found.

Sam turned and left without a backward glance.

By the time Dean had looked out the window, the streetlight was back on, but there was no one beside it.

**Chapter 1**

**_Stull Cemetery_ **

Dean pulled up to the same spot his brother and two archangels had taken their swan dive. It was hard to believe it had been one year already. Dean walked toward the circle of dead grass that was Sammy’s grave marker. Nothing new had grown on the spot where the door to Lucifer’s Cage had been opened.

 _Appropriate,_ he thought to himself.

Nothing should grow where his little brother's death had taken place. Dean took out a bottle of the good kind of whiskey from a paper bag and sat down in the middle of the circle. He opened the bottle and poured a bit on the ground before taking a swig himself.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean whispered, “it's been a year since you left.”

Dean took another swig from the bottle, “Hard to believe, huh? I miss you, little bro. So much, I—I’m sorry.”

Dean broke down and cried ugly tears.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy. I know—I know I promised I would leave it alone and not find a way to get you out, but I can’t. I’m so sorry. I know you can’t hear me but, God, Sam, I can’t—I _won’t_ —leave you suffering in that hellhole for all eternity. Even if I can only free your soul so you can make it to Heaven, I don’t care, I won’t leave you rotting in Hell.”

Dean listened to the breeze; he didn’t know what he had been hoping for, but there was mostly silence.

“I won’t, Sammy,” he repeated to himself just to hear something.

Dean stayed seated in the middle of the circle, taking a sip of whiskey every once in a while. God, how he missed Sam.

Eventually, as the sun started to set, and the crickets began to sing. Dean got up and poured out the remainder of the whiskey on the circle.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I made you two promises, and I’m breaking both. I can’t be with Lisa anymore. God, the thought of me enjoying my life while you’re languishing away for the rest of eternity—I couldn’t, Sam. I’ll find a way to free you, but I can’t live the apple life you wanted me to.”

Dean watched as the sun’s last rays disappeared on the horizon. He took a deep breath and got in his car. Dean was going to get his brother back, one way or the other.

**_Wisconsin_ **

In a small town in Wisconsin called Friendship, a certain Sam Winchester was in the local bar with the intent of getting plastered. It was the first anniversary of his death. He gave a dark chuckle. How many people could say that while still being alive?

Sam took his fifth shot of whiskey in one go. He put the glass down and asked for another. As soon as the glass was put in front of him, Sam drank it in one go.

“Another,” Sam said.

The bartender raised a white, bushy eyebrow and left the bottle of whiskey in front of Sam.

“Might as well, I don’t feel like coming here every two seconds.”

“Thanks,” Sam ignored the glass and drank straight from the bottle.

“Haven’t seen you around town, you new here?”

“Yeah,” Sam took another pull from the bottle, “I’m just passing by.”

“Celebrating or forgetting,” asked the bartender.

“Both,” Sam answered while grimacing.

“Huh, never heard that one before. It’s usually one or the other,” the bartender looked at Sam; clearly, he was curious and hoping for an answer.

Sam gave him none.

“Well, I can see you don’t want to be bothered. It’s still early so you can stay as long as you’d like. You seem to need a good place to drink your sorrows away. Remember, I may be an old man, but there’s a reason we bartenders are considered good listeners.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, sincerely, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The bartender nodded and took the order from a new customer. 

Sam stayed in the bar until midnight. He wasn’t even wasted, having just drunk about a quarter of the bottle in seven hours.

He sighed.

Sam had intended to get drunk, but he didn't like losing control. The thought of doing so terrified him. So he had stayed in the bar occasionally drinking a bit of whiskey. Mostly, he stared at the people coming and going.

He walked up to the bartender, _George, his name is George_ , and paid for his drink. George inclined his head at Sam. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, young man." Sam gave George a small smile of acknowledgment, and the old bartender went back to cleaning a glass he held in his hands. Sam turned and walked toward the exit.

Just as Sam was about to leave, a big, middle-aged, beefy man started shouting.

“Fuck you, Wanda, I can drink as much as I want!”

Sam hadn’t even thought about it. One minute he was by the door about to leave. The next, he caught a fist that was about to strike a petite dark-haired woman.

The room became still and quiet. Sam could feel eyes on him. The stares made him nervous, but he couldn’t back down now. Besides, one punch from that asshole and the woman could get seriously hurt.

“What the fuck? Who are you and why are you getting in OUR business?

Before Sam could answer, another voice rang out.

“Brad, it's time for you to leave,” George walked up toward the man, _Brad,_ and glared at him. Suddenly he didn’t look like a nice, older man with white, bushy eyebrows. He got to his full height, and even though he had to be in his sixties, Sam could tell there were hints of muscles and a determination made of steel. 

Brad scowled at the older man and then started to leave.

Sam didn't know what tipped him off, maybe it was some instinct he had from all the years of hunting. Perhaps he was subconsciously paying really close attention. Suddenly he was pushing George out of the way just as a shot rang out.

He heard screaming, but he ignored it. Sam didn't know where he had gotten shot, but he didn't care. He was tired. He closed his eyes and hoped to fall into the darkness. The pain wasn't as overwhelming he thought it should've been.

Sam smiled; apparently, he was going to die on the anniversary of his death.

 _Appropriate,_ was the last coherent thought he had before he let the cold dark take him away.

**_Sioux Falls, SD: Bobby Singer’s House_ **

The day after leaving Stull, Kansas, Dean showed up in front of Bobby's doorstep.

“Crap, if you’re here, it can't be good.”

Dean smiled.

“Good to see you, too, Bobby.”

Bobby opened the door to let Dean in, he walked into the house and had a feeling of coming home. The place hadn't changed at all. Books dominated Bobby's first floor, with the worse case being in Bobby's study. There were bottles of half-drunk rotgut strewn all over the place, and in the kitchen, phones labeled with different government agencies were close to the stove. There was a pot of cold chili on it.

“What are you doing here, boy?” Bobby took out two beers from the fridge.

Dean frowned, Bobby didn’t sound happy.

“I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by,” Dean answered as he accepted the beer undoubtedly cut with holy water.

“Mm-hmm, and considering the date, this just happened to be coincidental, huh? Why aren’t you with Lisa and Ben?”

Dean sighed. He was hoping he would have had to time to rest before being grilled, but that wasn’t how Bobby worked. He tried to cut through the bullshit as fast as he could.

“I just—I just couldn’t do it anymore, Bobby.”

Bobby said nothing, and Dean couldn’t help but let everything out.

“It’s just, I can’t continue living a, well not happy, but comfortable life while Sammy is burning for the rest of eternity in that hellhole.”

Bobby crossed his arms, a look of disapproval crossing his face.

“I was hoping that, maybe, I could stay here for a while. Just until I know what to do,” Dean added quickly.

Bobby sighed.

“You can stay as long as you like, boy. This is your home, too. I love you like my own, always have, always will. But I am worried about you. You got _out_ , boy. You promised Sam you would get out of this life for him. You have a woman and a kid! Please, Dean, think about what you’re doing. Do you think Sam would’ve wanted this for you?”

“He’s not here, Bobby. He can’t make me do something if he’s not here,” he whispered, pain lacing his voice.

“But, I will get him out. I don’t care if I don’t have him alive anymore as long as his soul is resting in Heaven. I’ll get him out, Bobby, and I need your help.”

**Chapter 2**

**_Friendship, WI_ **

_Thunder boomed, and lightning cracked over the cage. Sam was huddled in the corner, trying to seem as small as possible. He had lost Adam somewhere in the huge cage._

_He could never seem to lose the two archangels, though._

_Right now, they were fighting each other._

_“This is your fault,” Michael shouted._

_“Shut up, I did nothing wrong; it was_ His _fault. Father did this to me, to you, to us!”_

_And round and round they went, fighting, arguing, acting like children. Two immortal beings that had been present since before the beginning of time acting like brats._

_Eventually, they got bored with each other and teamed up against Sam._

_Sam felt his very essence being torn apart and put together again. He was going to die, …and then be brought back to be tortured once more. He didn’t know what to do, this was his punishment. This was…_

Sam woke to a door closing. The sound of the latch catching sent him into a panic. No! The Cage was closing.

Fuck! He needed to run, he needed to hide.

Lightning cracked, lighting the Cage up.

Loud shouts and noises reached his ears.

Cold laughter and icy fingers touched him as he tried to squirm away. Sam covered his ears. He heard Lucifer’s mocking voice taunting him.

_“We could’ve ruled the world. Now your nothing more but my bitch.”_

Sam screamed in pain as he felt Lucifer violate him.

He saw a white room—no, he wasn’t, he was in the Cage.

Thunder boomed, but somehow Michael’s voice was louder.

_“You filthy creature, because of you, Father will never return. The Apocalypse was supposed to mark His return. Now He’ll never come home! It's YOUR fault.”_

Sam whimpered as hot fingers burned him. He watched in horror as Michael took out his still-beating heart and squeezed it.

Sam felt his chest erupt in pain, even though his heart was no longer in his body…

Sam was…Sam was…

Sam fell into darkness.

XXX

George didn't know what to think about the sedated young man on the bed. The doctor and nurses had felt it prudent to tie him down to avoid another episode like earlier. George hadn't liked it. He didn't know what to do. George sat down on the chair that had basically become his bed the past three weeks.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since the young man, Samuel, as he had found out later, had pushed George out of the way and had taken a bullet to his chest that had been meant for the old bartender.

Brad was now sitting in a jail cell awaiting his trial for attempted murder. The man had always been a hothead, but George would have never guessed he would try to kill someone. Wanda had been shaken up, not knowing what to do. She had also been admitted in the hospital, hysterical.

“How’s he doing?”

George looked at the new person coming into the room. A man in his late thirties wearing a sheriff badge walked into the room.

“He woke up. It didn’t go well.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

There was silence for a moment before it was broken by the newcomer.

“How are you, dad?”

George looked up at his son and sighed.

“I feel guilty as hell, that’s for sure. Have you found out anything about him? Any family we can contact?”

James Hardt, or Sheriff Hardt as he was known, shook his head. He wished he could tell his dad that yeah, they found a family member for Samuel. James couldn’t, though. No matter how hard he tried, James couldn’t find anything. It was as if Samuel Campbell had never existed.

There had only been a driver's license from Colorado as his ID and Samuel hadn't woken up to give any details. Clearly, the man was a drifter. They had only found a duffel bag with a few changes of clothes stuffed into in the filthy motel room he had been staying and a few hundred dollars in cash.

James wished Samuel would wake up so he could thank the younger man for saving his father’s life. If hadn’t been for his quick reflex, well, James didn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened.

Samuel had been shot in the chest. Through some miracle, he had survived, though he had lost a lot of blood. It had been touch and go for a while, but the doctor had given the all-clear just three days ago. They had slowly weaned Samuel off the drugs that had been keeping him in a medically induced coma.

Samuel stirred, and George watched as the young man winced.

It seemed like the younger man wouldn’t have any family members around when he woke again. George wondered if he even had any. Was he all alone in the world?

"You should stop looking. Obviously, we're not going to find anyone. Until Samuel wakes up, at least coherently, we're not going to find out anything."

“I wanted to ask, dad, what happened?”

George shook his head, feeling sad.

He had entered the room and had seen that Samuel had been awake. He had closed the door, and shit had hit the fan. Samuel had thrown himself off the bed, ripping off wires as he went and had curled himself up in the corner.

George could still hear the screams of fear ripped from Samuel's throat. The words that were coming out of his mouth in another language. It had taken five orderlies, four nurses, and a sedative for the younger man to be brought back. 

He had been pleading in English for it to stop, begging not to be hurt again. 

“The doctor thinks he has PTSD or some other mental illness, but they can’t evaluate him until he wakes up again, hopefully coherent. They had been worried that he had opened his stitches, but, thankfully, they hadn’t”

James nodded. He studied his dad. George looked tired, the bags under his eyes a deep purple. The wrinkles on his face seemed to be more prominent than usual. James' father was tall and fit for his age, but at the moment, he looked like a frail 68-years-old man. 

“Why don’t you go home, dad? I can have a deputy stay here.”

George shook his head. James saw his dad’s shoulder tense, and he knew his father would not leave the chair. George was a stubborn old bastard when he wanted to be.

“Fine, who’s taking care of the bar, anyway?”

“Ariel is, I go in the daytime, but come here in the afternoon. I don’t want him waking up alone.”

“I understand. Well, I have to go, I was just here on my break. Call me if you need anything, okay, dad?”

“Will do, son.”

James left, and George once again paid attention to the man on the bed. He watched as Samuel’s chest rose and fell with every breath he took. Not for the first time, George wondered what the young man’s story was. He had seemed so depressed in the bar. George could tell then that Samuel had been going through some things. He had looked as if all hope had been taken out of him.

“Who are you, Samuel Campbell?”

**Chapter 3**

“You were lucky, Mr. Campbell. If that bullet had hit you just a few inches up, it would’ve struck your heart.”

Sam didn't feel lucky. His chest hurt. Every breath he took felt like an elephant had been sitting on it. Sam was still tied down. Sam had no memory of the episode, and he wouldn't be let free until a psychiatrist came to evaluate him.

“Do you have anybody you would like us to contact?”

The pain in his chest now had nothing to do with him being shot.

“No,” he whispered, “there’s no one.”

Dr. Harrison looked toward George Hardt, a look of worry crossing both their faces. Sam ignored them and stared out the window. He wished he could call Dean, but he wouldn’t be selfish. Especially since it was his own fault that he was stuck on a hospital bed.

The doctor cleared his throat to catch Sam’s attention again.

“Well then, Mr. Campbell,” Sam interrupted him.

“Please, call me Sam.”

“Alright, Sam, we want to keep you for another week or two just to make sure everything is fine,” Sam interrupted him again.

“Actually, I was hoping I could sign out AMA. I don’t have insurance, and I don’t want to stay here any more than I have to.”

“Mr. Campbell, you can’t be serious! You were shot, you just woke up yesterday, and up until a few days ago, you were in the ICU. I can’t, in good conscience, let you leave this hospital until I know for a fact that you will make a full recovery.”

“I know my rights, doc, and I know you can’t keep me here against my will. It’s called against medical advice for a reason. I know you don’t want me to go, but I want to leave, so bring me the paperwork, and let’s get this over with.”

The doctor had obviously never had to deal with a patient wanting to leave because he was trying to sputter out reasons for Sam to stay. Sam had already ignored him. He just wanted to be untied so he could sign the papers and get the hell out of there.

Now, Sam wasn't an idiot, far from it. Still, Sam did have a habit of underestimating his need for medical attention. Had it not been for Dean, and Jess when he was at Stanford, Sam probably wouldn't have made it past his twenties. As it was, though, Dean wasn't around, and this doctor had no idea who he was dealing with.

“Sir, please, you can’t just sign out in your condition, you could die.”

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn’t really care if he died, but he wasn’t going to tell that to the doctor. They could put him in the cuckoo bin if they thought he was a danger to himself.

“I doubt I’ll die, and if I feel weird, I can go to another hospital. Now, can you please let me go and bring me the papers so I can sign them,” Sam said in a calm tone. He knew that if he talked in a reasonable voice that Dr. Harrison wouldn’t be able to do much.

“As I said earlier, Mr. Campbell, I can’t untie you until a psychiatrist comes to evaluate you and make sure you’re not in danger.”

“Dr. Harrison, I’m fine, I have PTSD. I just came home two months ago. I’m dealing with it.”

“Be that as it may, I can’t let you go, not yet. Now, if you excuse me, I have other patients to attend to.”

Dr. Harrison left pretty quickly after that, probably so he wouldn’t have to deal with Sam for a while. He didn’t blame the man.

“You should listen to him, he’s a good doctor and only has your best interest. Besides, you just got shot.”

“I’ve had worse,” it wasn’t a lie. Sam had been stabbed in the back and literally died.

“Still, you should stay. At least to alleviate an old man’s worrying heart. If you left before the doctor gave you the all-clear, well, I don’t think _my_ weak old heart would be able to survive the guilt.”

Sam stared at the old man. He was standing tall, arms crossed, and his eyebrows were raised in challenge. 

“Yeah, I doubt that.” 

George sighed.

“Look, kid, you saved my life, the least I can do is save yours.”

“I’m fine.”

George ignored him, “so if you’re worried about the bill, me and my son have got it covered. Though, I have a feeling that’s not why you want to leave.”

Sam kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to get into his personal life with a stranger.

“Look, just stay for the two weeks, at least. It’ll really make me feel better.”

“I understand what you mean, but I can’t stay. I don’t want to burden anyone. Besides, as I’ve said earlier, I’ve had worse. This is nothing more than an inconvenience, trust me.”

George frowned. He didn’t doubt that Sam was telling the truth when he said that he has had worse, but that made George wonder what Sam had gone through in his life.

From what he could gather, Sam had most likely been a soldier. He did mention that he had returned home two months ago. Who knew what the younger man had gone through.

“Do you really have no family?”

Sam turned his face away from George.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“Now, why do I have the feeling you’re lying to me?”

Sam said nothing. He couldn’t look at George.

“Look, I don’t know if you had a falling out with your family or if they don’t want you around,” he was interrupted.

"My family don't know I'm back. Hell, I am one hundred percent sure they don't know I'm alive."

George took a moment to digest what Sam had just said.

“You don’t think the brass told ‘em?”

Sam finally looked at George. He had a calculating look on his face. 

“No, I told them not to.”

“You can do that?”

Sam shrugged, “If you’re were in the missions that I was doing, then yeah, you can.”

“Huh, don’t you think they deserve to know? I am pretty sure that they would be relieved to know you’re alive. Unless, of course, you have bad blood between you and your family.”

Sam thought about it for a moment. Would it be better for Dean to know he was alive? No, it wouldn’t. He knew his brother. Dean would leave everything he had built for himself and go after Sam. Even if he didn’t, even if Sam decided to settle down, what kind of life would Dean be able to build with Lisa and Ben if he had to take care of Sam and his craziness?

“It’s better if my family believes I’m no longer around. I’m not, well, I’m not all here, and they shouldn’t have to deal with me or my issues. It’s better this way.”

George stared at Sam and couldn’t help but feel his heart go out toward the younger man. George could see the air of hopelessness enveloping Sam, just like he saw three weeks ago as the younger man sat on a barstool in his bar. It had been the reason George had talked to him. 

“Look, kid, I won’t pretend that I understand your logic. Hell, if I had found out my son or any other person I cared about weren’t really dead, I would be ecstatic. I wouldn’t care if they were messed up or not. I’d just be glad to have them home.”

Sam kept quiet. He didn’t want to argue. Hell, he was feeling tired. 

“Look, just stay for the two weeks. Please, it would really make me feel better.”

Sam made the mistake of looking at the older man. George’s eyes were resigned, almost as if he knew he was going to lose, but at the same time, Sam saw a glimmer of hope. He wanted Sam to stay, he wanted to make sure Sam would be alright. Sam felt terrible at the thought of leaving, now. He didn’t want to be a source of pain in anyone else’s life. He didn’t want to leave George, wondering if Sam had lived or not.

Sam sighed. Damn it, he really had wanted to leave.

**Chapter 4**

**_Two Months Later_ **

Sam stared at the empty sheet of paper in front of him. His duffel bag laid by his feet. He had been staying with George since his release from the hospital. It was surprisingly hard to say no to the stubborn older man. 

Which is why Sam had decided to leave without telling George. Sam thought that a note would be good enough and that by the time George returned from his shift at the bar, Sam would be long gone. 

He just didn’t know what to write. 

Sam sighed, he tapped the pen on the table, trying to come up with something to say. What could he write to the man that had been nursing him back to health? Sam thought that the words would come easy, but here he was, thirty minutes later, and with nothing put down. 

Sam was just about to say fuck it and write down ‘thanks for everything’ when he heard a car pull up. Sam looked out the window and saw James coming out of his patrol car.

Sam sighed. It was his own fault; he should’ve been gone. 

James opened the door to find Sam sitting by the kitchen table, duffel bag by his feet, and a blank sheet paper on the table. James sighed. His father had told him Sam had been acting weird the day before and had asked him to check up on the kid. It seemed he was planning on leaving.

“Do you really think this is the best way to leave,” James asked, disapproval coloring his tone.

Sam didn’t take his eyes off the piece of paper.

“Your dad is stubborn. I don’t think he would’ve let me go without arguing. He’s hard to say no to.”

James snorted, “You’re telling me. You should’ve tried growing up with the guy.”

“I can imagine.”

Silence reigned for a moment before Sam couldn’t take it anymore.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t stay.”

“Mind if I ask why?”

Sam finally looked up. He didn’t see any judgment from James, just curiosity.

“I’m not getting better, I’m getting worse. Just a few days ago, when that huge thunderstorm hit, I got freaked out,” to put it mildly, “I can’t keep doing this to your father. He doesn’t get a good night’s sleep because of my nightmares. He’s told me that sometimes my flashbacks are so bad that sometimes I actually fall on the floor, convulsing. He has to deal with me and talk me out of whatever flashback I’m having or hold me down so that I don’t hurt myself, and it’s not fair to him.”

“I don’t think my dad minds.”

“Yeah, well, I mind. I don’t like being a burden.”

James sighed.

“Look, if it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have my dad right now. Trust me when I say this, you don’t feel like a burden. That being said, I can’t force you to stay, and neither can my dad. I can tell you’re not used to staying in one place for long. You’re a drifter. Still, I don’t think it’s fair that you intended to leave without at least saying goodbye.”

Sam bit his lip and balled his fist. He felt a bit guilty now.

“I’m not trying to guilt-trip you, okay? Get your things, we’ll do a few stops, and then I can drop you off wherever you want.”

Sam got his duffel and was about to walk out to the car when he felt a hand stopping him.

"Is that all you're taking? I know my dad, and I have bought you a few things." 

“I like to travel light.”

"Look, kid, I can't stop you from leaving, but I can make you take the clothes we bought you. They don't fit my dad or me, so you might as well."

“But,” Sam was interrupted. 

"No 'buts,' go get them and put them in your duffel. That thing isn't even half full." 

Sam looked up to the ceiling before conceding.

“Fine, God, both you and your dad are so stubborn.”

“Well, if that just isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. Go on, get the rest of your things. I’ll wait for you in the car.”

James walked out of the house. He took his phone out to make a call as soon as he was in his car. He heard it ring for a few seconds before hearing his father's voice.

“Y’ello?”

“Hey, dad, you were right, he was planning to leave.”

“Humph, I knew it, that kid is predictable once you get to know him. You’re bringing him over, right?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m surprised you aren’t going to convince Sam to stay.”

“If I knew that I could, I would, but he’s getting restless. Besides, I’m surprised he’s stayed this long. I would’ve thought he would have hightailed it out of town a long time ago.”

"Yeah, me too," James looked up and saw Sam locking the door. He closed it quietly; James and George had noticed that when a door was closed too loudly or if Sam heard the latch of a door catching, it could send him into a bad state of mind. James had wondered before what could've happened to Sam that the sound of a door closing could send him into a panic attack.

“I have to go, he’s coming out of the house right now. Have everything ready.”

“Will do,” was the last thing George said before hanging up.

Sam got into the car and put his bag on the floor.

“We’re going to your dad’s bar, right?”

“Yep,” James answered, popping the ‘p,’ “He’ll be happy to say goodbye, trust me.”

Sam nodded and looked out the window. The clouds were gray. He hoped that didn’t mean another thunderstorm was brewing. He didn’t want to have an episode in the middle of the street. 

Ever since coming back, thunderstorms and lightning triggered memories of the Cage. The Cage always had thunder booming and lightning crackling inside and outside of it. Not to mention that the archangels’ voices boomed louder than any storm. Sam shuddered. He didn’t want to think about it.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Sam automatically replied a bit too quickly. Sam saw James frown from the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t call Sam out. Sam was happy he hadn’t. The last thing Sam wanted was to talk about his crazy before leaving town.

He looked up at the sky again. He hoped he could catch a ride out of town just in case. A part of Sam was sad to leave. George and James had welcomed Sam with open arms, and Sam could admit, at least to himself, that it was nice to have a support group and place to go to when he felt like shit. 

Sam was so lost in his head that he didn't notice they had reached George's bar until James brought the car to a halt. Sam stared at the little building. The old, but clear sign read _The Pint of George._ Since it was still early, the bar wasn’t opened yet, Sam knew that it was only George and Ariel, the waitress, that were in at the moment. 

Sam felt his stomach do a flip.

Sam kind of wished he could just disappear and not have to say goodbye to the older man who took in a broken man for two months. James was right, though, it wouldn't be fair just to go and leave George wondering whatever happened to Sam. 

So he took a deep breath and got out of the car. Sam would go in, say his goodbyes, maybe leave his phone number and then fall off the face of the Earth. 

“Okay, let’s go,” Sam got out of the car, leaving his duffel bag. He wouldn’t be too long, anyway, and James had already said he would drop Sam off anywhere he wanted. Maybe James could take him to the nearest bus stop and then… Well, Sam would figure it out.

“You make it sound like I’m torturing you,” James joked.

Sam winced, he heard an evil laugh and felt phantom licks of fire running up his arms… No, they weren’t phantom...They were real flames! 

_Help, help, please, stop!_

“...Am, Sam. Sam!”

When Sam came to, he was up against something. 

A car. A cop car. James’ car; he was up against James’ car.

James’ face swam in front of Sam’s vision. Did he look worried, why?

“Sam, are you okay? I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said tor—I shouldn’t have said that word.”

Sam took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his fast-beating heart. Lucifer’s mocking laughter was only now starting to recede to the back of his mind.

Sam knew it wouldn’t be gone too long. 

“Sam, are you sure you want to leave? You can stay longer. At least stay in town.”

James knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care. He just saw Sam have a panic attack. Who was he kidding, it had been a flashback, and James knew it. James wished Sam would listen to reason and would stay with George or, at the very least, in town. James could help Sam pick himself up, but Sam was hard-headed, and James knew he wouldn’t stay. 

And he called George stubborn.

“I’m okay,” Sam whispered. 

Now that he was back and, more or else, sane, Sam felt his cheeks heat up from embarrassment. Fuck, he wished that hadn’t happened. 

Sam saw a hand in front of him, silently telling him that James would help him up. He almost ignored it but decided to take it. He didn’t want to seem rude.

“Sam, you could stay a few more days. I can help you find a job in town, a place to live, you don’t have to leave.”

Sam could hear the desperation in James’ voice. Sam almost gave in. It would be nice to stay in one place, to have people that knew him, to have a home.

_You don’t deserve it, you freak. You deserve to suffer._

“I can’t, James, I’m sorry.”

James nodded, looking resigned.

“Okay, I see I won’t be able to change your mind. Let’s go see my old man. I don’t want him to worry.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t know George was expecting us. I thought it was supposed to be a spur of the moment kind of thing.”

James rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit embarrassed. 

“Yeah, my dad suspected something was up, and he had me go to see what you were up to. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sam reassured him, “as I said, it’s hard to tell him no.”

Sam dusted off his pants. He looked in the car’s mirror to make sure he didn’t look like a crazy person. Sam thought he still looked like an imposter, but it would do.

“C’mon,” he told James, “let’s go before your dad starts freaking out. I don’t want him to chew us out about keeping an old man wondering and worrying.”

James laughed, “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Sam stopped James with a hand to his chest.

“Hey, if you can maybe, y’ know, not tell your dad about what happened earlier. I don’t want him to worry about me right before I leave.”

“Sam,” James started. He didn’t get to finish.

"No, please, James. The reason I'm leaving is that I don't want to be a burden to anyone. Least of all your dad. If he finds out I freaked out, he'll become more insistent for me to stay."

“Sam,” James said in a low voice, “you’re not a burden. We are glad to have you around. It doesn’t feel like a job for us. Besides, you saved my dad’s life. We owe you.”

There it was. 

_We owe you._

Sam didn’t want anyone to ‘owe’ him, and he definitely didn’t want anyone to feel an obligation to take care of him, not out of pity and not out of duty. 

_Kind of like Dean did,_ a perverse part of his brain supplied.

_Shut up._

Dean didn’t take care of Sam because he pitied him, maybe because of a sense of duty, but Sam knew Dean did it because he loved him. Even though Dean would rather have his teeth be pulled out with no anesthetic than admit that out loud.

That’s why Sam hadn’t told his brother he was back. He deserved to look after his own happiness. It was time Dean took care of himself. 

Sam was lost in thought, thinking about his brother and how much he missed Dean that Sam didn’t notice he had entered the bar until he heard, ‘surprise!’

Sam was glad it was only three people, and even then, he could feel his heart trying to leave his chest.

Sam let Ariel pull him up to the bar and then let George pour him a drink. Sam gave the old man a small smile. 

**Chapter 5**

George gave Sam another beer. After an hour of the little importune party had passed, George could tell Sam was getting restless. He sighed. George wished he could convince the kid to stay, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. The last two months of getting to know Sam had George knowing it would be impossible. 

The kid was stubborn. There were many times that George had told him not to worry about doing anything around the house, but Sam didn’t listen. George eventually gave up trying to talk sense into him. 

George watched as James and Ariel danced around each other. Clearly, the two liked each other, but neither of them had the guts to ask the other out.

“I bet in two or three weeks those two go on their first date,” Sam told George.

“Wanna stay and see if you win that bet?”

Sam gave a sad smile. 

“Nah, besides, you can call me later and tell me if I won.”

Sam got another drink from his beer. George decided now was as good as time as any to tell Sam what he wanted to say to him.

“Sam,” he started only to get interrupted by the man in question.

“George, I can’t stay. I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

George started shaking his head before Sam even finished his sentence.

“No, I know that Sam, I’m trying to convince you to stay. I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

Sam looked down, abashed, he suddenly found it interesting to scratch the label of the beer bottle.

“It was nothing, I’m pretty sure anyone would have done it.”

George shook his head. Sam was so shy when he was being thanked and underplayed his role in things. 

“That’s the thing, though, not anyone would’ve. Hell, I’m pretty sure half this town would’ve let it happened and then would’ve sent prayers and casseroles to James as a sign of condolences. You’re a hero, Sam, and don’t let anyone, yourself included, say otherwise.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I’m not a hero, I’m the opposite of a hero. If you knew the things I’ve done, you wouldn’t look at me the same way, let alone call me a—a _hero_.”

The bar had gotten quiet, and George knew that both James and Ariel were listening. He ignored them.

“You’re right, I don’t know what you’ve done, but I have gotten to know you these past few months, and I know you are a good man Sam Campbell. Whatever you have done in the past, it doesn’t matter. Besides, I have a feeling you’ve done a hell a lot more good than bad. You just judge yourself too harshly.”

Sam gave a small scoff.

“You sound a bit like my brother.”

“You’re brother, is he by any chance named Dean?”

Sam looked up, surprised.

“How—how did you know his name?”

George’s voice softened as he answered.

“You have a lot of nightmares, Sam, and you scream out the name ‘Dean’ a lot. I put two and two together just now when you mentioned you have a brother.”

Sam looked down again. He looked sad and lonely.

“You miss him,” George stated.

Sam nodded.

“Why don’t you call him,” James suddenly asked.

Sam didn’t look up as he answered.

“He deserves to live a happy life that doesn’t involve his messed up younger brother and the crazy that I come with. He’s been taking care of me his whole life, he deserves to take care of himself and his family, now. Me showing up would ruin the semi-balanced of peace he has found.”

Sam finished his beer and got up.

“I’m going to get going. Thank you so much for everything you have done for me these past few months. I really appreciate it.”

George knew that he had only a few seconds before Sam would disappear. 

“Wait, Sam,” George got Sam’s wrist and let go when he felt Sam flinch.

“Sorry,” he said, putting his hands up, “I just have something to give you. Now, I don’t want to hear that you don’t want anything. You need this, and it is the least James and I can do for the man who saved me.”

Sam followed after George, confused. What could George be giving him if it involved going outside?

“Ta-da,” George said while pointing at an old, white Ford pickup truck. Sam vaguely remembered seeing it while going up the stairs to the bar but hadn’t thought much about it. Even know, he was a little confused until James jingled a set of car keys in front of Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes widened when he figured out what that meant.

“Oh no, I—I can’t accept this, you guys. It’s too much.”

“Nonsense,” George boomed out, “it’s no trouble at all. Besides, it’s just an old beat-up truck, probably won’t last you the year but at least it’s something until you can get a better car. Now, as I said earlier, I won’t take no for an answer. Take the truck. It’ll make my old heart feel better.”

Sam rolled his eyes. George had a habit of mentioning his old heart when he wanted something. 

“Guys, I don’t know what to say.”

Sam felt his throat choking up. These three people who didn’t really know Sam had been so kind to him.

“Say you’ll take it,” James said and dropped the car keys into Sam’s hands.

Sam thought about it for a second before curling his hand around the keys.

“Thanks,” he managed to choke out. He cleared his throat, “Thanks for everything.”

Ariel came up and hugged Sam before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t be a stranger now. And do keep in touch.”

“I will,” Sam promised. 

James was the next one to give his goodbye. He slapped Sam on the back and gave him a quick hug.

“Take care, man. Call if you ever need anything.”

Sam let go and looked him in the eyes.

“I will,” Sam cleared his throat before giving a cheeky smile, “Ask her out soon, or you might lose her to another man.”

James ducked his head but not before Sam saw the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Shut up.”

Sam laughed. Next, George came up.

“I’ll miss you, Sam. I have your phone number, and you have mine. Don’t forget this old man.”

“I won’t,” Sam promised.

“Do me a favor. Think about writing your family a letter, at least to let them know you’re alive. Trust me, you would help them a lot.”

Sam bit his lip and nodded. He doubted he would take George’s advice, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give the older man some peace of mind. 

Sam gave his last goodbyes and got into the truck. Sam didn’t know where he was going and what he was going to do, but he didn’t care. 

It was three days later when Sam was in a run-down motel room in Colorado that Sam thought about what George had said. No one knew Sam was back. Maybe Castiel knew, maybe not, but Sam didn’t want to pray to the angel in case he didn’t know. 

What if Cas convinced Sam to talk to Dean, or, failing that, decided to tell Dean himself? No, Sam wasn’t going to risk it. 

That didn't stop Sam from feeling guilty. So, against his better judgment, Sam decided to write a letter. Not to Dean, though, no, not him, but there was someone that Sam could send a letter to let someone know he was alive. Sam also knew that if he asked them, he wouldn't tell Dean that Sam was back. Besides, Sam wasn't going to go and meet him face-to-face, so he knew he wouldn't have any problems. 

Sam sat down and started writing his letter.

_Dear Bobby…_

**Chapter 6**

“Bobby, I’m back,” Dean yelled while closing the door with his foot. His hands were full of groceries and a few bottles of hunter helper.

“You get the mail,” Bobby yelled from the library.

“Yeah,” Dean put the bags down and went to look for Bobby. 

Bobby and Castiel were both in the library looking through some books. Dean wasn't surprised to see Cas with Bobby. Ever since Dean prayed to Castiel and told him his plan to bring Sam back, the angel was with them as often as he could be. This was hard because from what Dean could piece together, there was some type of civil war going on in Heaven. Dean didn't have the details; Cas was real tight-lipped about it all. 

Dean put down the groceries and then started sorting them out. He put everything where it belonged. When he was done, Dean looked through the mail while walking toward Bobby. The last letter stopped him short. 

Dean knew that handwriting. He had seen it all his life written on motels’ stationery.

_Out to get breakfast._

_Out for a run_

_Went to the library_

It was Sam’s handwriting. 

Dean felt his heart skip a beat before starting back into overdrive. 

Sam had written this letter. A letter. Not for Dean, though, no, it was addressed to Bobby. Dean bit his bottom lip, contemplating as to whether or not open the letter. It wasn't addressed to Dean. He shouldn't open a private letter. 

Dean ripped the envelope open. Dean’s hands were shaking hard; he could barely read the letters.

_Dear Bobby,_

_I’m back. I’ve been back for a little over a year now. Sorry I didn’t contact you sooner. I wasn’t all there when I came back, and it took me two months after being free to think straight. Please don’t look for me; you won’t find me, and please, don’t tell Dean. He deserves to live his life peacefully without having me around. I’m not all here, Bobby. I have bad flashbacks, bad nightmares, and I don’t want to burden myself on anyone. I’ll be okay, promise. I hope everything is well. Again, don’t look for me, and though you’ll probably make fun of me, I have to say it: I love you, Bobby. Thanks for being there for Dean and me all these years._

_Best;_

_Sam W_

Dean blinked. He blinked again and read the letter once more just to make sure he hadn’t imagined its words. They were still the same. 

“Bobby, Cas, come here, quickly!”

Dean heard footsteps running toward him while he looked over the letter again, his heart picking up. 

_‘I’m back,”_ Dean felt his heart was going to explode from joy. Sammy was back, he wasn’t burning in that hellhole anymore. 

_‘I’ve been back for a little over a year,’_ that line brought Dean's joy down a bit and turned to worry. Why hadn't Sam contacted Dean, hell, even Bobby? Dean remembered his return from Hell, and it hadn't been easy, to put it lightly. He had had Sam and Bobby, though. Sam had had no one to help him, and he had been to the worst of what Hell had to offer, complete with two pissed off Archangels. 

“Dean,” he looked up to see a worried Cas and Bobby, “what’s wrong,” Cas asked.

“Sam,” was Dean’s brilliant reply. He looked down at the letter again. One line stood out.

 _‘Please, don’t tell Dean.’_ Dean got angry. What the hell was Sam thinking? No, wait, Dean knew _exactly_ what was going on in Sam’s head. He didn’t want to be a burden, Dean deserved to live his apple pie life, Sam wasn’t worth it and all that bullshit.

"Dean, what's the matter with you, boy, and what about Sam? And why you're opening my mail?" 

Instead of responding, Dean gave Bobby the letter, and he set out to pack his stuff. 

‘ _Please don’t look for me; you won’t find me,’_ Dean snorted.

“Yeah, keep thinking that little brother. I will find you and bring you home.”

Dean was leaving his room when Bobby came up to block the door, Castiel right behind him. There was a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue in his hands.

“Where you’re going, Dean?”

“Where do you think? To bring Sammy back with me and then knock some sense into that kid. He’s been back for over a year, Bobby! He hasn’t contacted anyone until now.”

"Mm-hmm, and where do you think you're going to find him? He doesn't want to be found, boy, and if he doesn't want to be found, he ain't going to be." 

Dean snorted, “Bobby, you damn well that I can find that kid anywhere. Especially since I know he’s back. I’m going to start where this ended. I’m going to Stull Cemetery.”

Dean stared Bobby down, already planning ways to counter any arguments Bobby might make. Dean raised an eyebrow in surprise when Bobby moved out of the way.

"You bring that idjit brother of yours back, you hear? When you do, we're opening this up," Bobby raised the bottle of whiskey, "and celebrating." 

“I thought you were going to stop me,” Dean confessed.

Bobby snorted, “like if I could stop you. I just wanted to make sure that you had a plan and weren’t going all over the US like a blind man looking for a needle in the haystack. I’ll put my feelers out, see if anyone has seen him.”

Dean was about to protest when he was stopped by Bobby, “Don’t worry, it’ll be people I trust. You go and find that boy, okay?”

“I’ll see if Heaven knows anything, too. A soul escaping the Cage, there has to be _someone_ who knows something.”

“Thanks,” Dean said with gratitude coloring his voice.

“It ain’t nothing, boy, family don’t leave each other behind. Now go find your brother and bring him back.”

**Chapter 7**

Dean made an almost six-hour drive in just under four. 

Dean had just hung up the phone when he stopped in front of the circle where Sam had thrown himself into hell. Bobby had put out the APB for Sam and still hadn’t heard anything. 

_‘It’s only been three hours boy, get it a few, ya’ idjit.’_

Castiel didn’t have any ideas either as to who could’ve taken Sam out of Hell, either. It further complicated things that Cas hadn't been able to ‘sense’ Sam. Apparently, those sigils Castiel had burned into their ribs were still intact. 

Dean walked to the middle of the circle; he was looking for clues. Sam's letter had said that he had been back for over a year. Had Dean missed something when he had been there last? 

Dean looked around; everything looked the same. There was no indication that anyone had been resurrected from the dead. Still, Dean felt guilty. He should’ve known somehow that Sammy had been back, right? There was no one Dean was closer to than his brother; shouldn’t he have felt something when Sam returned?

Dean signed and walked back to the car. He sat on the Impala’s hood, lost in thought. Dean wanted his brother back, he wanted Sam in the passenger seat of the Impala and them hitting the road to anywhere. They didn’t even need to hunt. They could just have a normal cross country road trip. 

_‘I’m not all here,’_ Sam’s letter had read. Dean closed his eyes.

"Dammit, Sam, where are you?" 

After leaving the cemetery, Dean asked around the town if anyone had seen Sam. Apparently, they had, and it hadn’t been good.

"Poor boy," said an elderly shopkeeper, "I tried to help him, but he wouldn't—or maybe he just didn't understand—accept my help. I even called a social worker friend of mine to see if she could do anything, but there wasn't much she could do." 

“Do you have any idea where hie might have gone? He never mentioned family or friends?”

She was already shaking her head before Dean could finish.

"No, my friend tried to ask the same questions, but he never answered, and when he did, it was in a strange language. The best I could do was give him something to eat—he was so skinny—and leave the door to shed out back unlocked. I think he only used it when it was raining."

She gave a sad sigh, "He left about two months after he showed up. Poor boy, I felt so bad for him after he was attacked that—"

Dean interrupted, "Wait, he was attacked, by who?"

She shook her head sadly, her wispy, short, white hair looking like an unkempt halo. 

"Those bastards," she snarled, "I told him to leave that boy alone, but they don't listen! I found the poor boy crying in front of my door, bloodied up, and asking for help, calling for 'Dean.' I couldn't leave him there. I didn't open the store that day and took him to the clinic."

"Once there, the doctor said that the bruises and scrapes would heal up but," she hesitated for a moment, crying, "what they did to that poor boy, how they hurt him. _Violated_ him, it killed me."

The last word came out as a choked out sobbed. 

Dean felt himself still. He knew what she meant; Sammy had been...God, he was going to kill them.

Dean said nothing as the lady started talking again.

"I called the police, they went to the clinic, and all they did was scare him. They arrested the men responsible, and I kept an eye on him. I even forced him into the shed every night before I left. A few weeks later, he was gone. Since he wasn't around to testify, the judge let those assholes go, pardon my French."

"They came around later looking for him, but me and old Bessie here," she took out a shotgun, "chased them off. Since they had nobody to terrorize, like cowards, they ran off." 

Dean took a few moments to process everything the older woman had said. He felt a cold rage settling in his veins. 

"So, you have no idea where he went?" 

"Sadly, no. I worry every day. I should have declared him a family member and put him under my care, but the poor boy was afraid of his own shadow. Every day I pray for his safety." 

"Look, like I said earlier, I'm looking for him. I'm his older brother. He's been missing for over a year, and I just want to bring him home." 

She nodded, "I know, but that's all I can tell you."

Dean sighed. 

"Actually," he leaned on the counter, "if you can tell me who the men were that hurt Sammy, I would greatly appreciate it."

Dean stuck out his hand, "I'm Dean, by the way." 

**Chapter 8**

**_Harmony, NC_ **

**_One month and Three weeks Since Sam sent the letter_ **

Sam woke up to the sound of beeping. He opened his eyes just to see a white ceiling with grey speckles. People came and went around him. He scratched his left hand only to find an IV. 

Fuck, how had he ended up in the hospital? The last thing he remembered was going to the little room that he shared with some kid.

After Sam had sent the letter, he had left Colorado and had ended up in North Carolina. He had been reading the newspaper and had seen that there had been mysterious disappearances in a small city in North Carolina. Sam knew when something supernatural was happening and he had decided to investigate. 

Sam knew he shouldn’t have hunted alone, especially with the issues he was dealing with, but he didn’t want to call Bobby and tell him to send other hunters. First of all, he knew the older man would convince him to go tho Sioux Falls. Secondly, Sam wanted to feel useful. 

So with the little bit of money he had, Sam had bought an ill-fitted suit, made a false FBI badge, and set to work. It didn't take him more than three days to find out it was a ghoul munching on the living and then killing it. Had he gotten a few scrapes that could've been avoided if Sam had had a partner, maybe. But who truly knew that? After he wrapped up the hunt, he drove further into North Carolina and had decided to stay in a place called Harmony. 

Sam had gotten there just as farmers needed help with the fall harvest. For almost two months now, Sam had been working as a farmhand. It didn't pay much, but it came with a free room and two meals a day. Sam mostly kept to himself; he was the first to go to bed, even if he didn’t sleep well most nights and the first to rise. He didn't talk to anyone unless it was about work.

"You with me, hun?"

Sam turned toward the voice that had brought him back to the present. He came face-to-face with an elderly nurse. Her blue eyes were clouded with worry and a bit of fear.

"You gave us quite the scare, hun, we had to tie your legs down because your seizures wouldn't stop. You almost fell out of the stretcher."

Sam looked down and, like the nurse had said, his legs were tied to the stretcher.

"What do you mean 'seizures'? I don't _have_ seizures."

"Hmm, is that so," the nurse said absentmindedly as she wrote something on a clipboard, "so you've never had seizures?"

"Well, when I have a flashback, people have told me I sometimes have small convulsions, but they don't last for more than one or two minutes. I have bad flashbacks from my time with the army, but I don't have seizures." 

Sam didn't want to admit to the nurse that the flashbacks, and therefore the convulsions, were getting worse. The farm he worked on had a lot of men with a lot of baggage. Besides, the owner didn't let them work during thunderstorms, so Sam usually got in his truck and would weather the worst of his flashbacks in it in an isolated part of the land. 

The nurse sighed, reminding Sam where he was. He tended to get distracted easier now...Oh, wait, the nurse was talking. 

"Hun, the 'convulsion' you had earlier lasted for thirty minutes straight, we gave you an anti-seizure medication, and it stopped. We can't keep you here. We're a clinic, not a hospital. We've already called an ambulance, and they'll take you to a bigger hospital so you can get the proper diagnosis and medication." 

Oh, hell, no. Sam was _not_ going to go _anywhere_. Except maybe the hell out of dodge. He kept quiet, though, not letting the nurse know what he was thinking. 

"Okay, I understand. Is there any way you can untie me? I have to use the bathroom."

The nurse smiled, "Sure, hun, the bathroom is just down the hall and to your left. Be sure to come back here so the doctor can talk to you."

Sam nodded. Thirty minutes later, he had picked up his truck, took the bit of cash he had saved up, and left town. 

_**Friendship, WI** _

George was getting ready for work when he heard his phone ring. He grumbled a bit as he picked it up. He was running late, dammit.

"Hello," he answered a bit terse.

"Hello," answered a shy voice back. George forgot about running late as he smiled.

"Sam, well, if it isn't nice to hear from you. How have you been, son?" 

"Good," Sam answered. George frowned, he had sounded hesitant. 

"Anything wrong, Sam?"

There was silence for a moment, "Not really, but I'll deal."

George felt his heartbeat picking up, worried. Sam had never admitted anything was wrong. George remembered the first words out of Sam when he woke up in the hospital. "I'm fine," he had said even after a bullet had been taken out of his chest. 

"Sam, come back."

There was silence on the other line, and for a moment, George had feared that Sam had hung up. Then he heard a forced laugh. 

"Oh, George, you don't want someone like me living with you. Besides, I'm having the time of my life! I'm in South Carolina right now. I'm thinking of heading to Miami, get some sun." 

George could hear the faked cheerfulness in Sam's voice. He didn't push the younger man, knowing it could cause Sam to become closed off. Then who knew if George would ever hear from him again. They talked on the phone for almost half an hour. The truck seemed to be doing fine, thank God.

"Sam, before you hang up, call more often, okay? I know you're a grown man, but I do worry about you. It'll make my old heart feel better."

The laugh Sam gave was a genuine one, "Still talking about your 'weak' heart, huh? Please, your heart is probably stronger than mine."

George smiled, "Well, then, Sam, I'll let you go. Call more often. Once every two weeks ain't enough."

"Okay, I will," there was a pause, "I sent a letter to my uncle."

George straightened up a bit, "Yeah, how is he?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, "I put a fake address and haven't called him. He knows I'm back, though, and I asked him not to tell Dean."

George sighed, "Well, it's better than nothing, I suppose. Call him, maybe it'll make you feel better."

"I'm fine," Sam answered, and George couldn't help but smile. 

That night, George was cleaning a glass when a stranger entered his bar. He had intense green eyes, and he looked tired. 

"What can I get for you, stranger?"

"A beer."

George put the beer in front of the man and then went to attend his other customers. He kept an eye out on the stranger. There was something about him that screamed out 'danger.' Not even five minutes later, the man asked for another beer. 

“Anything else I can get for you?”

He took a swig of his drink and then answered, “Actually, I’m looking for someone. He would’ve shown up here a few months ago, coming out fo the blue. He’s about ya high,” he put his hand up past his head, “long shaggy, brown hair. He has these puppy eyes that will make you want to give him anything you want,” he trailed off, a wistful look replacing the tired one. 

Could this be...?

“This person has a name,” George asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, his name is Sam. I'm his older brother, Dean." 

George couldn’t wait to get to know this man. 

“Well, then Dean Campbell, there is a lot I have to tell you about your brother.”

Freaking Sam was on a mission to kill Dean! The bartender, George, knew Sam alright. And he had told Dean everything. Sam could've been killed saving a stranger, and Dean would've never known that his brother had made it out of Hell. 

Dean thought his anger had reached the highest it could when he found out Sam had been in Cicero but, lo and behold, his baby brother had to prove him wrong. 

Shot in the fucking chest, fuck! Dean’s cheek tensed in anger. He was going to kill Sam when he found him. Then, he was going to glue the kid to Dean’s hip. 

Dean sighed wearily. While a part of him was proud that Sam had saved George, Dean was mostly worried sick. What if he found his brother's corpse after looking for so long, what if he didn't even get to talk to Sam? Dean shook himself out of those thoughts. No, he was going to find Sam alive. 

Dean felt an ache in his heart. If Sam didn't have such a guilt complex, they would've been reunited more than a year ago. Dean could've helped Sam with his memories. He could've been there for Sam as he had flashbacks, seizures, (fucking seizures!), and nightmares. Dean gritted his teeth as he remembered the men that had attacked Sam. Dean had made sure they knew exactly why they had lost their lives. 

Dean could’ve helped Sam get through it all. 

Thankfully, George had been very informed. He had just talked to Sam that day, so Dean knew that Sam was still alive and somewhere in South Carolina. Hopefully. Dean now had the make and license plate of the truck Sam was driving he knew which name Sam was using, Campbell. Dean gave a small chuckle.

“Sam, you sentimental little bastard.”

Dean quickly sobered up. He knew why Sam had chosen their mother's maiden name. Sam thought he would never see his family again, and he had wanted some kind of connection. Dean sped up, wanting to be closer to Sam. 

**Chapter 9**

Dean hung up the phone. Bobby had just called, saying that he had nothing. Likewise, Castiel had gone to Heaven, and the only information he had gotten was that no one knew who had freed Sam. Basically, they had a big steaming pile of nothing. 

“Don’t worry, Bobby, I have something.”

“What you got?”

"Either than the urge to throttle some sense into Sam," Dean sighed, "he was admitted into a little clinic in a small town in North Carolina. I just got his file, and the little shit had left before they sent him to a hospital in a bigger town. That was two days ago." 

"Before that, he had been in the town for a few weeks as a farmhand. Sam had a seizure, and the kid he was bunking with called for help. Before _that_ , it seemed he had done a case in a bigger city here in North Carolina.”

And that was what pissed Dean off. Sam should, at the very least, be taking care of himself, _not_ putting himself in danger. What if he had a seizure while chasing a werewolf? What if his lack of sleep caused him to make a mistake. Dean couldn’t stop the horror shows playing in his head.

“You think you’re close to him?”

"Yeah, I missed him by a few days. Hopefully, I'll be able to catch up with him. He doesn't know I'm following him, so he isn't being careful. I already picked up his trail. I'll bring him home, Bobby." 

“I know you will, son. Now go find that idjit.”

XXX

Three weeks after having left North Carolina, Sam found himself in a familiar room. Okay, so maybe not familiar as he had _actually_ been in that particular room before. It was more familiar as in ‘you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,’ type of way. 

How had he ended up in the hospital this time?

He closed his eyes again and tried to remember. He had been asking questions about a girl who had been attacked and asked to see the body. As he had walked by the coroner, he had read the file. The girl had had her heart ripped out. Most likely eaten by a werewolf.

The body had confirmed Sam's suspicions, definitely a werewolf. He had inspected the body closer to see if he could find any clues. The coroner had prattled on besides Sam. He had nodded absentmindedly. As he was leaving, Sam heard as the cooler's door had closed. Sam remembered a strong feeling of panic, and then...he woke up. 

Sam could still feel a thrumming terror beating just underneath his skin. He took a deep breath and left before he could talk to any doctors. 

Two days later, he had killed a middle-aged woman that tried to rip his heart out and then left the town.

XXX

Sam looked up at the dark grey clouds as he laid on the bed of his truck. He could feel the terror that was always bubbling just underneath the surface, coming to the forefront. Sam's heart picked up its pace as he felt rain falling on his skin. Sam got off the truck's bed and got into the driver seat. His hands shook as he turned on the car. 

Sam jumped as the radio came on; the song sounded loud in the small cab. He turned it off and set out. Sam took a deep breath and started driving in a random direction. Maybe he should get a motel room. 

Sam winced a bit at the thought. Money was hard to come by, and the idea of wasting it on something as useless as a motel room when he had his truck left a terrible taste in Sam's mouth. Sam was weighing the pros and cons of getting a motel room when a massive lightning bolt flashed and brightened the sky. 

Sam swerved, and it was his fast instincts that had him stomping on the brakes. The sky suddenly opened up; the rain went from a drizzle to a straight-up monsoon. Sam wasn't paying attention to that. He was trying to bring himself back from a memory, the memory of the first day of the Cage. It had been so cold, so loud... 

"No," that one word pierced the silence of the cab, and Sam felt his shallow breathes slowing down. As his blurry vision cleared, he noticed the bumper was inches away from a tree. If hadn't stopped the when he did, he would've hit the tree at almost 50 miles per hour. 

Sam took a deep breath.

"Definitely time to get a motel room," silence was his only answer.

Twenty minutes later, Sam was in a hideous yellow and brown colored motel room. Sam threw his bag on the floor and then let himself fall on the bed. His heart was palpitation a thousand beats per minute. His fast and shallow breathing was making him dizzy. Sam could hear the sounds of Lucifer's laughter in his mind and felt the phantom pains of torture flickering underneath his skin. He was losing his mind. He knew he was. 

Not for the first time, Sam contemplated suicide. He turned to his side and closed his eyes. Sam felt so alone, he missed his brother, and the self-imposed exile he had condemned himself to was driving Sam even crazier. Setting aside all the Hell trauma and memories of torture, Sam had never been good at being alone. Every time he went off on his own, bad shit happened.

Sam sighed at his wayward thoughts. He knew he would never commit suicide out of fear of ending up back in Hell. Sure, it wouldn't be the Cage, but he would still be tortured for the rest of eternity and become a demon. Sam turned to lay on his back, he ignored the pitter-patter of the rain hitting his window. Sam fought the urge to lock himself in the closet. Lately, the only time Sam felt safe was when he was in a small, enclosed space. Ironic, really, since the Cage was technically one. 

Sam closed his eyes and let the rumble of the thunder wash over him. He had to concentrate on staying in the present. He knew he couldn't keep living the way he was. Something had to give. 

Maybe he should go and stay with Bobby for a while. Sam knew his surrogate father would welcome Sam with open arms. It would be nice to stay in a place that felt like home. Bobby's house had been a huge part of Sam's childhood, and after John had died, Bobby became a father to both Sam and Dean. 

Sam knew that staying with Bobby would go a long way in making Sam feel better. At the same time, he didn't want to burden Bobby. Besides, Sam feared Bobby would eventually break and tell Dean that Sam was back. 

Sam was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the crappy door to his motel room wasn't closed well. It wasn't until the wind knocked it open and shut it right after did Sam notice. The sudden noise destroyed any semi balance of control Sam had on his sanity. He sought out somewhere to hide, he didn't care where as long as he was away from the noise. Right as he was finding a place to hide, the thunder decided to create a symphony of booms that had Sam screaming. The multiple flashes of light had Sam falling into his memories. He hid in the closet as Lucifer started his torture. Unknown to Sam, as he was trapped in his mind, his body started convulsing and soon became a full-blown seizure.

Dean cursed at the dark clouds as they opened and let their torrent come out into the world. 

It had been a little over one month since Dean found out about Sam's return. Every day he was away from Sam, Dean's anxiety for his younger brother grew. He knew he was getting closer to Sam. Dean couldn't be more than a day or two away from him. Dean was afraid for his younger brother.

Dean gritted his teeth. Dean had kept in touch with George, and through the older man, he knew Sam was more or less okay. Dean also knew that Sam didn't do well in thunderstorms. George hadn't gone into too many details, but Dean knew it involved seizures. George had tried to downplay it, but it didn't work on Dean.

He felt helpless.

Dean should be there for Sam, protecting him, not chasing him around the continental USA. From what Dean could gather while trailing after Sam, Sam's seizures were becoming more frequent and longer. Sam's medical files were on the passenger seat (where Sam should be). The past month he had been admitted five times at five different cities. Each file told a tale of worsening effects from Sam's time in the Cage. 

If only Sam would reach out Dean, he could convince Sam to stay put, and Dean could get to him quicker. Unfortunately, from what George told him, Sam didn't have a cellphone. Every time he contacted the old man, it was from a payphone. George would then relay what Sam told him to Dean and give the area code of the payphone. 

Really, though, as a hunter, Dean knew how to run plates through the system. Still, it was sweet of the old man to keep in touch and tell Dean what was going on with Sam. 

A deep rumble pierced the sound of rain. The thunder shook the Impala, and the hair on Dean's arms stood. Dean tensed as lightning after lightning bolt struck across the dark sky. Dean hoped he Sam had gotten away from the storm. Dean felt his heart clench at the thought of Sam all alone during a bad storm like the current one. 

Somehow, the rain got even worse, and Dean could barely see three inches in front of him. He put his emergency lights on and drove on the shoulder of the road. The thunder and lightning seemed to be mocking Dean.

 _Look_ , they said, _listen as we torment your little brother. The brother you can't protect._

Dean hit the brakes. He shouldn't be driving in that type of weather while emotional. He didn't want to die before finding Sam. It wouldn't be fair to his younger brother. Dean waited impatiently as the rain cleared up some. Once it calmed down enough for Dean to see, he turned on the car and slowly made himself down the road. He should get a motel room. 

As much as it pained him to, he knew he needed to stop. Dean had his eyes out for a motel that had any vacancies. About twenty minutes later, he saw a run-down motel room that had rooms. At least, he hoped they did. Looking at the parking lot, Dean saw that it was mostly full. 

Dean suddenly froze. He did a double-take and stared at the truck that got his attention. It looked like the right model and make. With a pounding heart, Dean went out in the rain and saw the license plate number. He gasped as the numbers and letters he had memorized stared back at him.

It was Sam's truck. Dean looked ahead of the truck. The door it was parked in front of was opening and slamming shut. Dean's heartbeat picked up.

"Sam," he ran into the room, not caring about anything but getting to his brother. He knew Sam was in that room, and he was in trouble. There was no way in hell Sam would just leave a door opened like that. 

Dean was greeted by a dark and silent room. The only light source came from the lightning as it hit the sky. Dean walked into the room, the sound of the wet carpet sounded loud in the darkness. Dean looked to the bed and noticed an old beat-up duffel. He couldn't help but open it and saw clothes, a silver knife, and a gun. There was a fake FBI badge, and Dean opened it.

Dean's heart broke as he looked at the picture. Sam had lost a lot of weight. His cheeks were gaunt, and he had dark bags under his eyes that made it look as if he had been bruised. Sam's eyes looked hollowed of life and full of fear. Dean put down the badge and looked around the room.

Now that he was paying attention, Dean could hear a thumping noise coming from behind a closed door. With dread filling his being, Dean opened the door and out came out Sam.

"Sammy," Dean got to his knees and put Sam on his side. A bunch of froth came out of his mouth. Fuck, Sam had been choking on his spit, and if Dean hadn't found him could've fucking died.

"Sammy, c'mon, please. Snap out of it, come back to me, little brother."

Dean watched helplessly as Sam flipped around on the floor like a fish out of water. Dean knew it was a bad idea, but he got behind Sam and held him close to Dean's chest. Dean didn't know what Sam was seeing or hearing (well, he knew it was his time in Hell, but he didn't have any specifics.), but he could be there for his brother now. 

"Shh, Sammy, whatever you're seeing, wherever you think you are, it's not real. You're home now. I have you, little brother. And I won't let you go."

Dean didn't know how long he stayed with Sam on the floor, but by the time Sam had stopped convulsing, Dean had no strength left. Sam was whimpering in his arms, speaking both English and Enochian. Dean's heart was breaking with every plead Sam made for them to stop.

"Oh, Sammy, I should've gotten you out sooner. I'm sorry, little brother, I failed you."

"Dee, Dee," Dean stroke Sam's head and whispered reassurances into his little brother's ear. 

"It's okay, Sammy, your awesome big brother is here, now. And when you're feeling better, you and I are going to have a long talk about younger brothers not telling their big brothers that they're back from the dead."

"Dee," was the last thing Sam said before he lost consciousness. Dean was suddenly aware of the deep silence. The storm had stopped while Dean had held Sam through the worse of his flashbacks. Dean wondered if he had helped Sam or if the storm stopping had been the reason Sam had gotten better. 

It didn't matter. Sam feeling better and being calmed was what mattered to Dean. Dean got up and groaned out loud. His muscles were sore. 

"Crap, I don't think we'll be able to make it to the bed, Sammy."

Dean's words were met with silence. 

"It's okay, I'll find a way to make us comfortable."

Dean looked in the closet that Sam had been hiding in. Some clothes were hanging in it. Dean got up on shaky legs and made a little nest for Sam and himself. He then tiredly moved Sam into the nest. Dean brought Sam close to Dean's chest. 

In a cramped closet, in a hard floor, in the middle of nowhere America, Dean slept deeply and soundlessly for the first time since Sam had taken the swan dive. 

**Chapter 10**

Sam woke up next to a warm body in a cramped closet. There were clothes over his head that tickled his nose. Where was he?

He moved around a little and felt strong arms enclosing him. He looked behind him and had to blink. Sam had to be dreaming, right? There was no way in hell Dean was sleeping while snuggling up to Sam. Had Bobby told him about Sam's return. Sam felt a rush of guilt, even as he melted into his brother's embrace. 

Sam would never admit it out loud, but having Dean so close to him made Sam feel better. Even the fear and memories that were always just underneath the surface of his mind were quiet. Sam sighed and closed his eyes, relishing on the peace and quiet of his mind. 

Of course, that's when Dean decided to wake up. Sam was in for it now. There's no way in hell Dean was not going to lecture Sam for not going straight to him the moment Sam had returned. 

The first thing Dean did when he woke up was look over Sam. He had some bruises from the night before, but that was to be expected after having had a seizure in a small closet for God knew how long. The second thing he did was hug his brother. Dean let go of Sam and put one hand behind Sam's neck and the other on Sam's cheek. 

The warmth that Sam was radiating was comforting.

Sam gave a small smile, and then shyly greeted Dean, "Morning."

Sam was not prepared for the hit on the back of his head. It hadn't been hard, but it had been surprising.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Dean was fuming. Was Sam really asking that?

"Seriously, seriously?! You still ask, 'what was that for'? How long have you been back and you didn't once contact me?"

Sam's face fell a little, and Dean felt some of his anger dissipate. He put a hand on Sam's neck cheek again.

"I'm not mad at you, Sammy, at least, not much. You should've come to me, Sam. God, after George, told me everything."

Dean trailed off. The fear that he had been feeling the whole time he had looked for Sam came back. 

"You know George," Sam asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah, after Bobby—after Bobby received that letter..."

Sam interrupted Dean, "Bobby told you? I asked him not to. Is that why you're here chasing me down instead of being home with Lisa?"

Sam was a little disappointed that Bobby hadn't minded Sam's wish. Dean should be in Cicero with Lisa and Ben. Not holding on to a fucked up little brother that had already stolen his life.

"Bobby didn't tell me anything, Sam. I had already left Lisa and Ben for about three months when your letter arrived. I recognized your handwriting and couldn't help but read. That's how I found out," he ended the sentence a little angrily. It wasn't fair that Sam hadn't come to Dean. Dean had been grieving the loss of his younger brother, going slowly insane in his grief, and Sam had been back. 

Dean took a deep breath and then asked, "Why didn't you tell me, Sammy?"

Sam looked up and whispered, "I wanted you to live a happy and normal life with Lisa and Ben. Having me around would've ruined that."

"Sam, the only reason I had gone to them in the first place was that I promised you. But, after the first anniversary of your death, I knew I couldn't play house while you were burning for the rest of eternity. I went to your gravesite and then went to Bobby's."

"Lisa and Ben, they were a pale replacement for you. It wouldn't have been fair to stay with them and only give them a fraction of myself."

"But, when I saw you and them having dinner, you looked so happy."

Dean sighed, "You should've knocked on the door, Sam. By the way, you and I are going to have a bigger chat later as to why you didn't. I wasn't happy, Sam, I was pretending, and after a year, I couldn't do it anymore. Lisa was a little sad when I told her I was leaving, but I also saw the relief she tried to hide in her eyes that I was going. It wasn't healthy for them to have me around."

Sam's face fell a little; he had looked crestfallen. Dean took hold of Sam's chin and made him look at Dean straight in the eyes. Dean couldn't help but hug his brother. Sam was shaking, and he felt cold. They held on to each other in that closet for a long time. 

XXX

Dean made sure one last time that Sam's truck was hooked up to Baby well enough that it wouldn't go rolling off in the middle of the highway. Sam refused to leave it behind and had thrown a bitch fit when Dean didn't want him to drive it.

Could anyone blame him, though? Dean hadn't had his younger brother by his side for a long time, and he didn't want to get him out of his sight. So, he had comprised. As much as it pained Dean to have baby hooked up to something else, Dean didn't mind the sacrifice if it meant Sam was in the passenger seat of the Impala. He was sure Baby understood.

Sam came out of the room, holding his duffel bag close to his chest. They had decided to stay two more days. The storm had picked up again an hour after they had woken up, and Dean had to take care of Sam. Dean didn't think it would've been a good idea to drive with a freaking out Sam in the car. 

The two days they had spent trapped in a small motel room while a thunderstorm had raged outside had given Dean a good way to study Sam while he had his episodes. When Sam had a flashback, he would go into full out convulsions that had him flopping around the floor with their strength. Dean didn't tie Sam down, but he did make sure that Sam was always on his side. 

Sam also slept a lot less. In the last forty-eight hours, Dean had seen sleep three or four of them. When he did sleep, it wasn't peaceful or restful. Sam had nightmares that rivaled Dean's when he had first come back from his trip downstairs. 

Dean studied Sam as he got into the Impala. His shoulders were now thin and fragile. Every time Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulders, Dean could feel bones, and it scared him. It felt like he could break Sam's bones with just one hit. 

Sam had been hunting while in those conditions. Once Dean had calmed down some, he had lectured Sam on the dangers of hunting while running on low batteries. It had been a miracle that Sam hadn't been maimed, or worse while doing hunts. 

Sam had given Dean one look with his puppy eyes on full force, and Dean had stopped the lecture.

"Did you eat the breakfast I bought you?"

Sam bit his lips, and Dean knew his little brother was about to give him an excuse as to why he hadn't eaten. 

"I was feeling nauseous. Sorry."

Dean shook his head. That was another problem, Sam couldn't keep any food down. What ever little he ate usually was seen again floating in the toilet, not even semi-digested. The only thing Sam seemed to be able to keep down was saltine crackers, water, and ginger ale. 

Dean had bought him fruits in the hope that Sam would eat them, but it seemed it didn't work. Dean sighed.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, he sounded close to tears. It seemed anything could trigger a negative response in Sam. 

"Don't worry, Sammy, it's not your fault. I still feel we should take you to a doctor, though. I'm pretty sure Bobby knows some people."

"No, no clinics, and no hospitals. Can we just go now, please?"

Dean didn't argue. He opened the door to the passenger side and watched as Sam got in. Dean got in the driver's seat and couldn't help but feel more at ease than he had felt since before going to Hell. Dean put on the radio and began driving toward Bobby's

Twelve hours later, Sam watched Dean as he parked in front of Bobby's house. The place hadn't changed one bit. Sam bit his lips, nervous, as both Bobby and Castiel walked out of the front door. Sam's heartbeat picked up, what if they were mad at him? What if they thought he had ruined their lives and now wanted nothing to do with Sam? What if?

"Breath, Sammy."

Sam hadn't noticed he had started hyperventilating until Dean put a hand on Sam's chest. He tried to follow Dean's breathing pattern to calm down, but it took a while. Once he had calmed down, Dean asked Sam a question.

"Are you okay," there was worry in his tone.

Sam nodded. He would be fine, especially with Dean by his side.

"Okay, let's go greet those two, huh? They missed you."

Sam opened the door and shut it at the same time Dean did. He jumped a little when they closed, but he ignored his fast-beating heart. He took a deep breath and walked up toward Bobby. The first thing Bobby did was hold Sam in a bear hug. Sam could feel tears on Bobby's cheeks, but he didn't comment on it. After a few seconds, Bobby let go but kept a hand on Sam's neck.

"Ya idjit, why the hell didn't you come back straight to me the moment you could? I should tan your hide for that."

Sam gave a small smile, "Missed you, too, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head, feeling exasperated, "idjit."

Next, Castiel turned toward Sam and put a hand on Sam's arm. Sam flinched a little.

"It's good to have you back, Sam, your return has brought great joy into us again."

"Thanks, Cas."

Castiel nodded and then turned to Dean, "I am still unable to find out how Sam was brought back, but at this point in time, I don't think it truly matters."

Dean nodded, "You're right, all that matters is that Sam is back."

Sam smiled, and for the first time since returning from Hell, Sam felt a quiet calm deep in his soul.

**Epilogue**

Sam stared out into the lake that they were fishing on. Dean was by his side, reeling one in. Dean was definitely better at fishing than Sam was, but he didn't mind. All that mattered was he was with Dean again.

Sam would never admit it out loud, but he had been wrong when he decided not to reach out to his brother. Since being with Dean, the seizures and nightmares had tampered off. He still got them, Sam doubted they would ever be gone, but he had an easier time controlling his PTSD. It helped that Dean was always there, ready to anchor Sam to the present. 

Sam didn't get seizures anymore, thank God, and the flashbacks weren't as bad as they had been. 

Sam felt a tug on his rod, and he tried to reel whatever he had caught in. Dean laughed as Sam unhooked a twig from his fishing line.

"Ha-ha, Sammy, that scary twig give you a hard time?"

"Shut up," Sam answered him, "It's not my fault the fish aren't biting."

Just at that moment, Dean brought up another fish and threw it in his bucket. Sam couldn't help but pout.

Dean gave a crooked smile and threw out the line again. They set together in silence for a while before Dean broke it.

"Have you called George?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Besides, if I don't, he just calls Bobby's phone and won't stop until I talk to him." 

"Hmm, stubborn old man, huh?"

"You have no idea," Sam answered while he reeled in an actual fish that time. 

Sam and Dean spent the rest of the afternoon fishing. Sam knew that he would never truly be the way he was before taking his dive into the Cage, but with Dean by his side, Sam knew he would be just fine. 


End file.
